I feel like I’m a “selective hoarder.” I don’t think you’d look at either our home or my study at church and think I’ve got way too much stuff—except for the rows and rows and rows of books and the stacks and files and stacks and files of articles from newspapers, magazine, profession journals, newsletters and my own notebooks of ideas. It’s pretty overwhelming. Because my ministry of communication relies on ideas, I have accumulated many resources I call “You-never-know-when’s:” you just never know when that book, article, note, or file will come in handy!

But I recently experienced the burden of clutter I hadn’t felt before. I didn’t see it coming.

Our church campus has recently gone through a building program. We’ve also been upgrading many buildings, including the one where my study is (I don’t call it an office). Everything had to be removed. Everything. So that started the process of evaluating what to keep, what to give away, and what to throw away.

In the process, I began going through my past “day-books.” These notebooks contain daily notes on appointments, to do lists, meeting notes, phones messages and so on.

Reading through the days’ notes from several years ago was like re-living the day in detail. While that was fascinating, it was also overwhelming. The responsibilities and burdens and feelings of each day rose up within me, as if they were happening right now.

After this experience I came across this passage in the writings of Fenelon (the French spiritual director from the court of King Louis XIV):

“The wise and diligent traveler watches his every step, and always has his eyes upon the part of the road directly in front of him. But he does not turn constantly backward to count every step, and to examine every track. He would lose time in going forward.”

It’s dangerous to drive with your focus on the rear view mirror. I now see more clearly what Jesus meant when he said, “Let the day’s own trouble be sufficient for the day” (Matthew 6:34). My energy drained away as I went back over the notes in my day-books. I realized at that moment that I had to – in the words of Elsa—“Let it go!” (with apologies to Disney!).

I need all my energy for today. For right now. I made a bold (for me!) decision: I shredded all those day-books. And it feels good—mostly. (Gotta’ be honest—change is not comfortable!)

“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14).

Getting rid of yesterday’s clutter makes room for today.

Oh, I still collect stuff—and I’ll go through the-sort-and-throw-out-stuff process for years to come. But I’m more aware of the need to set a wiser standard for what I keep. Live now. Focus on what is needed now. Trust God for tomorrow’s ideas.

A common example of an incorrect definition and misuse of a term is in the phrase, “Well, that’s just my cross to bear.” When most people speak of “a cross to bear,” they are referring to suffering or a trial they have to endure: like an illness, or caring for a difficult relative, or putting up with a challenging supervisor at work.

This phrase is based on Jesus’ words in Luke 9:23, “Then [Jesus] said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’”

A thoughtful examination of this passage reveals that the cross is not merely an affliction to be tolerated or endured. The cross is Jesus’ place of mission, the place of his ultimate purpose, the place of judgement and redemptive sacrifice. Read the passage again, this time with verse 24 “Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. 24 For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.’”

The cross is about losing your life– to save it. As Jesus’ followers, the cross is our place of mission where we open wide our arms as part of Jesus’ life-spending, life-giving mission in this world. The focus of the cross is always on others.

So what about suffering? What about that particular problem that nags you, wears on you and challenges your “cope”? The biblical image that best fits that situation is the “thorn.”

Paul spoke of his thorn in 2 Corinthians 12. After experiencing a vision of the third heaven and paradise, Paul wrote, “…. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me” (2 Corinthians 12:7-8). Paul never specifically defined his thorn. Some scholars think it was a significant eye problem (based on Galatians 4:13-16), but the most important lesson is God’s message to Paul about the thorn.

But he [the Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

Spiritually speaking, a thorn is an affliction, weakness, struggle that drives us to depend on the Lord. (Don’t focus on the ‘messenger from Satan’ right now! That’s material for another time.) Paul spoke of the thorn in the context of weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions and other difficulties. A thorn humbles us, in the best sense of the word. It exposes our humanity so that our need for God becomes clearly inescapable and undeniable. We come to the end of our resources and make a new beginning with God’s strength.

Both the cross and the thorn express important, valid, yet different dimension of our calling in Christ.

Bear your cross as part of Jesus’ continuing mission in this world.

Take your thorn to the Lord and discover his strength in your weakness.

And remember, Jesus both bore the cross and endured the (crown of) thorns.

California’s population in 2017 was over 39 million—and I think they were all on the road last week! But this time it was more than the quantity of vehicles. It was a tragedy that, literally, stopped us all in our tracks.

We often take for granted how “powerful” we are as we cruise down any of life’s highways. But one mishap—small or great—reveals how powerless we really are. That’s what happened when we were driving to Northern California last week. We were just north of San Juan Bautista on CA HWY 101 when we saw smoke. We noticed no traffic heading south and knew there was trouble. Our progress slowed and then came to a complete stop. We watched helicopters dump water on the fire about a mile ahead. The smoke turned from black to white—like it was surrendering—then disappeared. But we were still stopped 20, then 30, then 45 minutes. All engines were turned off, and we sat in place. Many of us got out of our cars and were talking about the last time we were stuck like this. (It was our first time). Eventually we learned a “big rig” truck had crashed and caught fire. We were concerned for the truck driver, but never heard any news there. Finally, after two hours, we began to move.

Times like this remind me life is fragile. Traveling by any means is a delicate matter, easily disrupted by weather, mechanical problems, accidents and congestion. The networks of life are also fragile. Life’s support systems are fragile.

Traveling on mission trips has made me appreciate a hot shower, water available at the turn of a faucet, the ease of purchasing food and other “necessities,” and the relative safety and security of our country. But then I realize we’re truly vulnerable, wherever we are.

While we don’t want to be crippled by anxiety over everything that can go wrong, I find it helpful to cultivate three spiritual attitudes.

Awareness. Presumption numbs the soul. Awareness reminds us we are dependent on the Lord. James’ sobering exhortation makes the point: “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogant schemes. All such boasting is evil” (James 4:13-15 NIV). (I have these verses at the top of all my financial planning!)

Gratitude. I am aware life is fragile so I receive every moment with gratitude. I am thankful for the many blessings I do enjoy, even the midst of disruption, inconvenience and loss. I never tire of being reminded of Paul’s commands: “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV).

Humility. Pride rises from the illusion of power and control. While God has given us much freedom and abilities to do many things when and where we want, ultimately, we depend on God’s grace and mercy. “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:6-7 NIV).

While it’s easy to focus on how much goes wrong, it’s amazing to me that so much go right! God’s common grace and mercy keep us in more ways than we can ever imagine.

Live in the awareness that this fragile life, like an egg, is held in God’s sovereign, loving hands.

One of the common stereotypes of preaching is that a sermon must have “Three points, a poem and a prayer.” Another is that a sermon should always begin with a joke—I guess that is to disarm people and make them think the dreaded message may not be so bad after all.

My sermons rarely include jokes or poems. Once in a while, however, there’s a poem that is, itself, a sermon. George Herbert’s poem, Love (III), is such a poem. When I heard it presented as an anthem by our wonderful choir recently, I felt compelled to spend time reflecting on it.

Herbert (1593-1633) served as a tutor at Cambridge University and as a parish minister in the Church of England at Bremerton St. Andrew, near Salisbury. He died from tuberculosis at age 39. The poem Love (III) is part of his anthology The Temple. While I’d love to share more about this fascinating pastor-poet and his superb compilation of devotional poetry (highly acclaimed by the likes of T. S. Eliot and W. H. Auden), let’s move right into this poem.

Just a few preparatory comments, then I’ll let the poem speak for itself. It helps me to picture the human narrator (listen also for the Lord speaking) as one overwhelmed by unworthiness. The unworthiness of having failed in faith and faithfulness. Shame in simply being all-too-human is mixed with regret and fear and the (un)belief that the Lord could or would never really want anything to do with her or him.

Love (III)
By George Herbert

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

It’s sound corny, but there is a sweetness here, a gracious kindness, that melts all resistance. This is a portrait of love expressed not because of the worthiness of the person, but because of the greatness of the Lover.

Jesus said, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12: 32 NIV).

Read this poem a few times. Soak in it. Marinate. See it “play out” at the front door of a glorious mansion: You’ve just walked a very long, stately, tree-shaded driveway through magnificent grounds. The drive ends with a mansion that cannot be seen in its entirety without turning your head from side to side (Louis XIV’s Versailles palace comes to mind). With great hesitation you approach the door—and it opens while you are still debating whether or not to knock. It’s the Owner of the mansion (not the butler) who greets you. You stare in awe and then look down on your filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). Every fiber of your being wants to run back down the long driveway…

Then the Owner grips you with a word. Welcome. As you are. Welcome. For Love’s greatest joy is showing love.

Sarah and I were on a dinner cruise, having a wonderful meal at sunset. Suddenly, I was looking up at the sky, and Sarah was calling my name quite loudly. Why?? What was going on?? A crowd surrounded me, peering down on me. Then I realized I was flat on back, and my chest and head hurt. I’ll never forget the fear and concern in Sarah’s eyes. After an ambulance ride and checking into the emergency room, they ruled out what we feared (heart attack) and confirmed what we suspected: I was dehydrated.

It was all quite embarrassing and humbling. But the physician’s advice was (almost!) worth the whole experience. “Always drink before you are thirsty.” I see a message in those words.

In addition to being sound medical advice, there’s a powerful spiritual principle here. How often have we found ourselves flat on our backs spiritually, failing to recognize soul dehydration until it’s too late?

We live in an arid culture that sucks the spiritual moisture from our lives. When we neglect our regular times of reading scripture, prayer, community worship and fellowship, our spiritual reservoirs drain. We lose spiritual focus, waver in unbelief, doubt God’s love and care, and are smothered by spiritual lethargy. The key is to recognize our thirst.

Psalm 42 (NIV)1 As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

Thirst is a consistent biblical metaphor for longing, for desire, for yearning for God. It’s a highly experiential word, especially in the arid and semi-arid climate of Israel. And God promises to quench that thirst.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled” (Matthew 5:6 NIV).

Jesus’ promise to the Samaritan women whom he met at the well is the most encouraging of all.

10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”… 13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water [from the natural well] will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:10-14 NIV).

Staying spiritually hydrated means abiding in Christ moment by moment, being filled with the Holy Spirit (see John 7:37-40). What does that look like? For me, a primary practice is continual conversation with the Lord, punctuated often with phrases like, “I need you for this, Lord.” “Help.” “Thanks.” “You’ve got this, Lord, right?!” “Give me what you want me to give this person or these people.”

Doubt is a part of the faith experience, including doubts about ourselves. There’s One, however, who truly believes in us.

Martha, a salty saint in our congregation, came to my study on a Monday morning following a sermon in which I had said, “The most amazing truth is not that we believe in God, but that God believes in us!”

“You really got me thinking yesterday,” Martha said, peeking in my door. I invited her to come in. “I realize my greatest doubts are not about God, but about me! I love God with all my heart–but I sure have problems with myself! I wrote this poem last night for you. I tried to tell you what I mean.”

Then this wonderful woman, who had celebrated her eightieth birthday some time ago, gave me a poem that sets our quest in perspective.

Thomas and I

Thomas knew you well, noting small things…

The contour of your beard, your sudden laugh,

The gentle hands, the way your eyes caught fire

At the desecration of a temple or a life.

He more than most

Echoed your fervor when he prayed, “Thy Kingdom come.”

Yet Thomas doubted.

Not you! It was himself he disbelieved

And his companions, fearing their anguished need

Induced illusions. You did not rail at him,

But gently, with a smile exposed your wounds

For added certainty of touch as he had asked.

Lest I confuse my aching wants with your commands

Show me your hands.

Martha has now seen the Lord’s hands, having gone to be with him just months after writing these wise words. I am so thankful that she shared her counsel with me. She sets us on the right track.

As we journey on the quest of faith, we are invited to lay aside doubt, including our doubt of ourselves: of our motives, of our abilities, of the distraction of past failed attempts and the anxiety of future expectations. Just take the next step–that’s what matters now.

Commemorative Stamp in honor of the 50th Anniversary of Bonhoeffer’s execution at Flossenbürg concentration camp

Idealism is a doubled-edged sword in life and in leadership. I’ve learned the hard way that while idealism can be a positive force in casting vision, it can also erode joy, contentment and graciousness in relationships. This insight really came home when I read this sentence from German pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945).

He who loves his dream of a community more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter, even though his personal intentions may be ever so honest and earnest and sacrificial.

Bonhoeffer was one of the most fascinating pastoral leaders of the 20th century. He was a complex man. He shared profound reflections on the Christian faith seen in his books like The Cost of Discipleship where he wrote bluntly, “When Jesus calls a man (sic), he bids him come and die.” At the same time he was also involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler with a bomb that nearly succeeded (This plot was the basis for Tom Cruise’s movie The Valkyrie). Because of that he was imprisoned in Flossenbürg concentration camp and executed just three days before the Allies liberated the camp. You can read more about him in Eric Metaxas’ highly- acclaimed biography Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy.

One of the fascinating aspects of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s ministry was his leadership of the Confessing Church seminary community at Finkenwalde (1935-37) immediately preceding WWII. Bonhoeffer was leading and teaching a group of men who were willing to defy the Nazi’s by studying to be pastors of the Confessing church. These men were idealists, committed to Christ and the church to the point of willingness to be arrested and even executed (some of them eventually were.) But, one night in 1935, early in their life together as a seminary community, Bonhoeffer asked for help in the kitchen with the dinner dishes. There were no volunteers, and Bonhoeffer washed dishes alone that night.

I think Bonhoeffer was speaking first to himself when he wrote,

“Innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down because it had sprung from a wish dream. The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community, is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it. But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, p. 27).

When I was first assessed for entering pastoral ministry, the pastoral counselor highlighted what I now call the “dark side of idealism.” One sentence in his report still echoes in my mind, “Doug tends to set very high standards for himself and for those around him and to experience disappointment when these standards are not met.” Over 40 years later… it’s still more true that I would like to admit.

As a person in relationships and a leader in community, I realize the ideals for “the best” can have the unintended consequences of discontent and criticism. I’m continually learning not to allow my ideals to get in the way of developing gracious, realistic fellowship. Do not give up on ideals—the hope for what God can do in Christ. But temper them always with love for who we are and patience with where we are now.

[Special thanks to the Rev. Dr. Steve Stager for his helpful research in preparing this post.]

I was reading a devotional for pastors and ministry leaders when it suddenly struck me, “I can use this material in the message I am preparing for our missions’ conference.” I stopped, thanked the Lord, made some notes to include this in my message, and then returned to my devotions with another prayer of gratitude. As I prayed, I sensed this experience was like a wink from God. I really like the image of warmth and care conveyed by a wink.

It reminded me of the time Sarah and I were at a restaurant on the North Shore outside Boston, in the town of Essex. I was in seminary and she was a nurse, so it was rare for us to go out to eat. When it came time to get the check, our server came over and said, “I have the privilege of informing you your bill has been paid in full—including the tip!” We were speechless. “How’s that possible?” I asked.

“That couple over there said they wanted to take care of it.”

We looked over, and a physician Sarah worked with at the hospital was sitting with his wife. He gave us a nod, winked and smiled.

We know intellectually God cares for us, but may rarely feel it in our hearts. When it’s hard to feel God cares, it helps to become more aware of the little things we often call “coincidences.” They could better be described as “God-incidences.” Or, as I’m now suggesting, God’s “winks.”

Sometimes love is shown more fully in simple ways. I am deeply touched not only by Sarah’s gifts on my birthday, but by the notes she slips into my suitcase when I have to travel, or that quick text that just says she cares. I am encouraged by those who take time to know and appreciate the little idiosyncrasies that make me me. A couple in our congregation heard that I really like apricot nectar. Periodically we will open our front door to find a can of apricot nectar sitting on our porch. I feel joy and affirmation in that gift.

Jesus continually spoke of God’s joy in blessing us. “So don’t be afraid, little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the Kingdom” (Luke 12:32 New Living Translation NLT).

Romans 8:31-32 gives us confidence that God is not stingy in his care, “What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” (NIV).

The primary focus of each passage above is God’s provision for our redemption and transformation in Christ. And these include, I believe, the love and care that extends to all of life, often seen most clearly in the small, ordinary “God-incidences” that flavor our days. So watch for God’s “winks”– and you’ll see them more often than you can imagine.

Let’s face it, stuff can be a problem. We are body/ soul beings. (I don’t like to say we “have” bodies because we really are a “package deal” of body-and-soul together in this life—and the one to come!) As a result, we need food, shelter and clothing and have to deal with economic realities. But is it okay to enjoy our things? To have and do nice things? There is a strong streak of asceticism in Christian tradition, in which people abstain from or minimize material and sensual pleasures in order to express their spiritual commitment. This is very personal matter that some really find a struggle, and many have never considered.

I was leaving church at lunchtime one afternoon when a young mom I’ll call Jen saw me unlock my car. “That’s your car?” she exclaimed (Yes, that’s an unusual word to describe her speech, but she sounded alarmed).

“Sure is,” I said, with a bit of chuckle, confused by her excitement.

“That’s not… but that’s not a pastor’s car!” she said with a sense of disappointment.

She was joking, right? She had to be. But she wasn’t. My mind was racing (no pun intended) for a spiritual response. All I could come up with, “It’s a gift.”

You see, my wife, Sarah, is all about gifts and grace and spoiling people, especially me. For my 50th birthday she got an amazing deal on a seven-year old German import convertible by purchasing it from a very close friend. It cost far less than a new Toyota Corolla or similar “affordable” car. Sarah knew I would never buy a car like that for myself—but how could I refuse her gift?

So there I was, standing next to this love-gift, this grace-gift, from my wife, feeling judged by a member of our congregation. Like I had to defend my wife’s expression of love and care?

I have honestly blanked on the rest of my conversation with Jen, if there was any. But I’ve never forgotten the sting of her comment. It made me do some soul-searching, to be sure. I am one who is quick to feel guilty. I spend a lot of time in the tension between enjoying God’s good creation and not being captive to materialism.

I thought of Paul’s words to Timothy in response to those who were teaching against marriage and the enjoyment of various foods.

“For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer” (1 Timothy 4:4-5 ESV).

There is certainly a basis for drawing the principle from this passage that there are definitely times and places for good stuff. And we also have Paul’s exhortation to the “rich,” in which he does not condemn their wealth per se, but encourages them to look beyond their own well-being and enjoyment.

“As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life” (1 Timothy 6:17-19 ESV).

If you really want to wrestle with this more deeply, start with Romans 14:1-5. But for now, let me just say I thank God for the goodness of life and seek to enjoy that goodness and share it with others. How about you?

Too often our opinion of a person gets “frozen” in time, especially when there’s been a conflict. We allow one negative experience to become the defining factor in our view of that person. Because of that “snapshot” image of the person, we get stuck in our expectations and perceptions. We may even withdraw from them and avoid them. This hurts our relationships, especially in the community of God’s people.

Russ, an elder in one of the congregations I served, taught me a key principle about people and change.

We were meeting for prayer together before a Sunday service and began by reviewing the service assignments. There was a definite ‘contemporary’ (a reference my Presbyterian readers understand!) tone to the services that Sunday, and I had heard that Russ ‘hated the drums.’

“Russ, I imagine this service may be a challenge for you,” I said.

“Really? Why’s that?” he responded with genuine surprise.

“Because of the drums. I heard that you weren’t really a fan of them.”

“Oh, I used to make a pretty big deal about that, but I’ve changed over the years. Worship needs to connect with all God’s people, not just us ‘traditional’ types. I’m not a snapshot, I’m a video.”

That really hit me: a video, not a snapshot. A continually changing image, not a static one. We are not wise when we lock our perception of a person or group of people into one position, as if they are frozen in time, like a snapshot. We need to expect that many will continue to work through their ideas and preferences and make changes. People, especially those actively pursuing growth in Christ, are dynamic, changing, growing and learning.

Paul describes our transformation in Christ as a process of changing “from one degree of glory to another,” as the Revised Standard Version translates the following verse.

“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Corinthians 3:17-18 Revised Standard Version).

I appreciate that image of degree-by-degree, step by step; and most often it’s baby step by baby step.

The stimulus for change comes as we break free from the limited and limiting perspective of this world. We learn to view everything with the eyes of faith. Another way to say this is that we are learning to see life from the aspect of eternity. We are gaining perspective and a sense of proportion by viewing life as if we were seated with Christ in heaven.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:4-7 English Standard Version).

This is a staggering concept with countless implications for every aspect of life: our values, priorities, relationships, commitments and so on. For now, let it remind us that we need to give each other grace to grow. Instead of getting stuck with a negative impression of a person and their ideas, check to see how they have changed with time and experience.